


Trespass Against Us

by siriuslydraco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jon and sansa- not related, world one au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: amidst the tension of war and the heartache of a disastrous marriage Jon Snow and Sansa Stark find a love that has been working against them since childhood





	Trespass Against Us

**Author's Note:**

> jonsa fandom! it has been too long since I've written anything. I recently lost my grandfather and have been seriously down for some time over it, and especially since it was Christmas it was even harder. But this story has been in the works for a long time and I just can't abandon it no matter the circumstances. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter! 
> 
> also this will be based off of some of my favourite period dramas such as Lady Chatterley's Lover. Hope you like and follow me on tumblr guys I'm @winterjons

_**Gloucestershire 1909** _

The resounding clicking of heels on the cobbled pavement are a welcome sound to Sansa's ears; especially since the only thing she has felt under her feet for days is the damp grass of the Gloucestershire countryside. The leather of her boots ache her feet, and the corset that is tightening her already small waist beneath the blue velvet of her coat is threatening to cut off her air supply. But a lady of advantageous birth must always walk with grace; even if her lungs are being constricted by laces and loops. Margaery Tyrell can walk with the utmost of elegance despite the fact she wears her corsets tighter than Sansa could ever bear.

She eyes her now as she walks with her along the busy streets of town- one gloved arm looped in Sansa's while the other holds aloft a lacy parasol- the same pale pink of her dress- despite the fact not a drop of rain falls from the sky. Margaery is the very embodiment of privileged England, and holds herself and speaks with a sort of grace not even the royal family would display. Sansa has taken notice that every mans eye's have roved towards them as they've walked, but Sansa knows they do not gawk at her redheaded frame of only fifteen but of Margaery beside her.

She always feels such a sharp pang of jealousy whenever she gazes too long at her beauty, or thinks too long on how her eldest brother Robb adores the very ground she walks on. How she wishes someone would love her that much. But Margaery is older and has every right to capture men's attention. Sansa has not entered society just yet. Her time of wooing the most dashing Lord or Earl will come.

"Just what are you daydreaming of now, Lady Sansa?" she feels a slight nudge to her soft hip and turns her blue eyes towards the rather large brown ones that are studying her face. Sansa can feel herself blush, and curses herself for appearing so idle. She often slips away inside her own mind and knows most people think a woman should not think as often as men. Margaery thinks this too.

"Nothing, Lady Margaery. I was just thinking of what colour I should wear to my ball next month. Papa has given me an allowance to get a new dress made, I do fear I won't have enough time to be fitted for one if I can not decide" it's not a lie what Sansa has said. She often has had the thought of what she should wear when she is officially entered into society; something that seems so insignificant but holds the utmost of importance. If she makes a good impression on English aristocracy then she will be married by the time she is eighteen. Just like Margaery will be.

"A royal blue" Margaery's voice is wistful with a hint of a giggle as she waves her parasol in the air "it would be most astounding with your eyes. Every young man in England will be falling all over you"

"Margaery!" Sansa can feel the blush deepen on her face; now for a very different reason other than humiliation. But Margaery just rolls those eyes of hers and nudges Sansa's side yet again. Despite her untimely display of eloquence and ladylike behaviours, Margaery does have a vulgar undertone that is often expressed when talking of young men. A topic of conversation Sansa hates to broach. The presence of the two servant footmen that have walked behind Sansa and Margaery all day seem more prominent than ever.

"Oh hush Sansa, your governess is not here now to scold you. And I daresay I don't see Lord Eddard sneaking around in the undergrowth. Are you there Lord Stark?" Margaery laughs highly, turning the heads of some women that stand idly by a shop front. Sansa just smiles weakly at them in a sort of apology, but their aristocratic noses turn towards the sky "don't worry my darling, no one is around to hear you gush of young officers and gentlemen"

"I do not wish to speak of men. My Mother says it is most unladylike" Sansa bristles, suddenly interested in the rising steam that billows behind the brown stone buildings. It swirls in an angry black smog and Sansa frowns. The countryside may be dismal most days but it _is_ beautiful, her father's coal mines often pollute the blue skies with smog.

"There will be a day when you wish to speak of nothing else. When you realise how joyful it is to gossip about the handsomeness of the opposite sex I will be the first person you come to. Besides men are noticing you Lady Sansa, it's about time you were open to the idea of discussing them" her eyes sparkle almost mischievously as the light of the sun reflect off her heavenly appearance, but Sansa just looks away.

"Men do not notice me, Margaery. If I am out in town they stare at you. I am only a child" Sansa tells her, nearly being jostled by a man passing by.

"You're a woman now, and you'll be introduced to society in a months time. You'll be introduced to officers and Earls and all the young men in England...." Margaery's voice falters off at the end and Sansa feels her lips very close to her ear then "and not the wandering eye's of coal miners"

"What ever do you mean?" Sansa stutters, that crimson shade that has been permanently stuck to her cheeks reddening even deeper. She already knows of what Margaery means, but she can not show her that she does.

"Oh come now dear girl. I see the way that wayward miner Jon Snow looks at you, it's positively hilarious. He looks like a lost puppy of some sort" the scoffing tone of her friend bristles her, and she feels the arm that has been linked in Margaery's for some time slip and fall. Jon had been a secret sort of friend of Sansa's since she was five and old enough to accompany her father on visits to the mine. Jon's own father had worked between being a miner and a farmhand for the Starks, trailing with him his wayward and curly haired son. Sansa was young she knew, but it broke her heart whenever someone spoke so lowly of such a dear friend. But still a friend she had to meet in the shadows.

"Why is it so hilarious? Because he is of lower class than you or I? Because he earns his living by working in a mine?" Sansa finds herself arguing in the middle of the street, yet again being hit into by running pedestrians. Margaery however does not take notice that she or Sansa are being knocked into by those of bottom ranking, but stands there looking positively aghast that her friend dare protest the plain and simple fact of class.

"That is exactly why" Margaery informs her with the coldest of indifference in her tone "I find it comical he looks at you at all, when he knows no love nor gain could come of it. Why if Robb knew how Jon Snow watched his sister I'm sure he'd hang him for it"

"Jon and Robb have gotten on amicably since we were children. His father has worked for Stark Mining for years, and besides I feel I should explain this no further" Sansa tells her friend, thin and pale hands smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles in her deep blue coat "Despite class I feel that Jon Snow is a most agreeable young man"

"Far more agreeable if he had money"

Any brash and quick tempered comment Sansa had boiling on the tip of her tongue is all but lost in the bustle of people surging past, and she finds herself nearly being spun on her feet. There is a terrific panic that is overtaking the streets, one that had been forming while Sansa had been discussing dresses and officers, and a panic that has now eaten its way into the hearts of everyone like some terrible beast. There are soot covered men running this way and that, and as Sansa strains her eyes she can see the blackest of fog descend upon the streets. In the distance there is cries of help, and the deafening roar of sirens. It's almost like instinct when her arm shoots out and grabs the nearest person to her. It belongs to a kindly looking woman with a heart shaped face- quickening panic within the depths of her green eyes.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Sansa asks her, watching as the woman takes in her and Margaery's fine state of dress. Despite her apparent distress she attempts to curtsy while blushing.

"It's the mine, my Lady" she stutters in a brash accent "there's been some terrible accident. Some of the men are trapped"

She is gone just like a cloud of smoke as Sansa lets her go, her hand now stalling and beginning to shake where it rests in mid air. There is a choking feeling in her chest and her throat that has nothing to do with the tightness of her corset and she feels her feet begin to run before she can stop herself. Margaery's cries of protest do not persuade her to stop her frantic sprinting- blue velvet and ivory satin bunched in her gloved hands.

She is jostled and pushed by eager bystanders and is shoved out of the way by men with blackened faces of coal soot that run to aid towards the pits. Clearly in the town peoples state of panic they do not care that there is a Lady amongst them- all are intent in helping, and pushing anyone out of their way. There is a shrill cry of an alarm in the air, and mixed in with the distant sirens and the screams of people around it creates a cacophony of utter chaos. Sansa can feel her ears ring and her heart pound as she elbows her way through the gathering bunch of spectators, but she pushes down the crippling fear and focuses on finding him. _Jon_.

Robb too had come here to oversee the businesses progress but Sansa knows he would be far from harm, not like those men that work underground. His auburn hair and soot covered face is the first thing she sees as she breaks through the surging crowds of people. He is coughing alongside another man that is hanging limply from his side; dirt covered hands clinging to her brothers fine suit that is now covered in a thick layer of black coal. Robb lays the spluttering man on the ground while shouting orders at the idle standing people around him. Sansa feels her legs shake as she approaches him. His eyes- bluer now than ever in contrast with the black around his face- meet Sansa's of equal blueness and widen in shock.

He is before her in no time, strong hands taking her fragile arms in a vice like grip. Although he is the one who looks surprisingly in disarray it is he who looks Sansa over as if she is the one covered from head to toe in downy soot.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he asks her with a shake, forgetting gentlemanly behaviours to adopt roughness.

"I came to see what had happened! Robb what's going on? Why are you bleeding?" she notices then that there is a sticky trail of thick blood coating one side of his face. Her fingers come away wet when she touches his skin, and her brother sharply winces at the pain- his eyes widening as if noticing he is only bleeding for the first time.

"I couldn't leave those men in there. I had to go in and help! Sansa the whole mine is collapsed, and some of them are still trapped in there" his voice is overpowered by a roar and screech as the caged in pulley is brought up from the very depths of the coal pit. Staggering men all but fall out when the gates are opened and behind them they tug two very soot covered and limp bodies that are laid upon the cold ground. They are too dirt concealed to recognise upon immediate sight but one has a thick mop of dark curls.

"Jon!" Sansa cries, breaking free from her brothers constraints as she surges forward. Ladylike courtesies are all but abandoned as she throws herself to her knees; her fine skirts of velvet and satin now stained as her body partners with the soiled ground of the coal works. Her ivory gloves are ripped from her hands by trembling fingers as she pulls them off and Jon's face is taken between them as she kneels beside him. It is undeniably him, this close Sansa can tell despite the ash that covers his handsome face.

"Jon, wake up! It's Sansa" she firmly shakes his shoulders, her voice desperate and her manners altogether evaporating with every beat of her drumming heart. She can not care now who is watching. She would not care even if Lady Margaery was watching. She can feel Robb beside her as he too kneels down on the ground.

"Jon, old boy, can you hear me?" Robb asks him, his rough hands replacing Sansa's and shaking Jon's shoulders. There is a wheezing cough that answers and Sansa thanks whoever resides in heaven above that Jon is not dead. His eyes are like glowing orbs of white light as they are opened against the dark backdrop that is his face. Sansa's pale white hands shake as they take over the job of wiping the soot from his skin.

"My father?" Jon chokes, eyes frantically searching the skies and faces above him "where is he? Is he alright?"

The second limp body that had been dragged from the belly of the mine only becomes apparent now as Sansa shifts her gaze from the black eyes of Jon and to the person who rests beside him. Mr Snow lays beside his son- unmoving and his chest not rising and falling with a succession of rapid breaths such as Jon's. Beside Sansa Robb just shakes his head, and Sansa's eyes of blue fill with a pool of tears that panics Jon as she holds him.

"I'm sorry" she tells him over and over, her shaking hand caressing his face while they lift his fathers body from the ground. She repeats it as they lift him onto a board and bring his body to the back of a waiting cart. She tells him she's sorry when the town doctor rushes beside Jon and checks him. She tells him over and over, but what she is apologising for she has no idea.

* * *

"Sansa darling, will you come away from the window and eat breakfast?" Lady Catelyn's voice wavers slowly to where her forlorn daughter stands, but all Sansa does in response is shake her head stubbornly and continues to stare out the rain spattered window. The rolling expanse of her family's estate looks dismal and dreary today, not even the sprouting rose bushes can make her smile.

"You need to stop brooding, Sansa" it's her sister that speaks now but Sansa knows Arya is still only a child and can not begin to understand what has happened. Sansa will be sixteen in a month and even she can not fully comprehend the weight of the situation.

They had buried Mr Snow in a modest box of six feet, and had lowered him into a damp hole of dark mud. Jon had stood alone during it all with his black eyes cast down as they had followed the descent of his fathers coffin. He had refused to look at Sansa the entire time she had stood with her father and brother. Lord Stark had been reluctant to bring Sansa in the first place, but she had firmly stated that she was old enough to pay her respects to someone of the community and no more was said on the matter. There had been something in his eyes though, that had made Sansa believe her father knew how she wanted to be there for Jon and for nothing else. But even Jon had not wanted her there.

"Mother I wish to be excused from the room. I feel rather unwell and wish to lie down" Sansa turns around and eyes the flame haired figure of her mother. She regards her daughter with thin lips for a moment, pressed together in musing but she exhales after a moment and nods her head.

"If you do not wish to take breakfast with your sister and I then you are excused" Catelyn tells her and Sansa all but rushes from the room once her mother speaks, her heavy skirts of black bunched in her hands. The click of her boots beneath her skirt is heavy sounding against the ivory marble of the front foyer, and Sansa counts each step she takes- the numbers recited in her head better to think on than her own thoughts. She has lay awake most nights thinking of Jon's pained face and those eyes of coal grey squeezing tightly as he had tried to stop the tears from falling by his fathers graveside. That face is what she sees when she lies awake at night staring at her painted ceiling, wishing more than anything that she could reassure him that everything would be alright.

It is as if her thoughts are materialised before her as she turns the corner, the click of her boots stopping suddenly when the door of her fathers office is opened. A worn down and broad shouldered figure emerges from the sudden crack of light from the door, and almost instantly his dark eyes are met with hers- her breath mingling with the rays of rainy sunshine that filters through the windows. _Jon_ _Snow_.

She's frozen where she stands for a second and so is he, those eyes of his that resemble the very thing his father died mining staring at her like she's the only thing he can see. Deep within that romantic part of her Sansa truly wishes she _was_ the only thing he ever saw. But the title of class is evident between them.

"Sansa, my dear are you quite alright?" the voice makes her tear her eyes away from Jon's and over his shoulder where the grand figure of her father stands. His grey Stark eyes are tracing her face and his hand is gripping the cane that always accompanies him. He had fought in the Boer War and his body had taken affect from it; an injury Sansa knows her father regrets more than anything.

"Yes Papa, I'm fine. Just feeling a little unwell is all. Some rest will help I'd say" her smile is meek and insincere but plastered on her face with the purpose of appearing normal. She clasps her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. While she stands there she can hear Margaery's words in her head. _I see the way that wayward miner Jon Snow looks at you._ The blush that creeps onto her face then is noticed by the dark eyes across the corridor and Jon looks away to the hills that rest out the window instead.

"I should be off, sir" Jon addresses Sansa's father. Lord Eddard just clasps his hand on the young mans shoulder, a look of deep regret in his eyes.

"Safe travels, my young man" his words are followed by a rough handshake that is lacking in all gentle courtesy, but Sansa knows this wild young man of eighteen does not hold much gentleness within him. Neither does her father despite the fact he is of well bred stock. Her mind is puzzled at the exchange however and her eyes follow the dark shape of Jon as he begins the walk down the corridor.

"Lady Sansa" he calls her with a tip of his hat, just like he always does. His eyes don't leave hers until he is well away from her and all she can do is turn around dumbly and watch him leave.

"Jon" his name falls from her lips but he is well around the corner by the time she says it. A hand, now taking on gentleness, rests on her shoulder.

"Papa, what did Jon want?" she asks her father as she turns to face him with a heavily furrowed brow.

"Young Mr Snow is leaving us I'm afraid. Off to Derbyshire to live with his uncle" Lord Eddard's words make the edges of her vision tilt and warp and the marble floor beneath her boots feels oddly like sponge. She is afraid then that she will fall through the floor and the battering rain against the window matches the thumping of her heartbeat.

"Leaving? When?" Sansa stutters out; her eyes now travelling back to the place she watched Jon leave from.

"Catching the three o' clock train. Poor chap, he's lost everything. Moving away is the only way he'll have some sort of a life. Staying here won't provide him with anything, there's no jobs now that the mine is closed down" her fathers voice is a wistful sigh that echoes the deepest sorrow he feels in his heart, but it is nothing compared to the sudden freight train of emotion that hits Sansa. It's as if she is truly realising only now the truth of the feelings she has for Jon. Her skirts are grasped in shaky hands as she almost sprints away from her father.

"I have to....lie down, father" she tells him over her shoulder "I suddenly feel faint"

The words he calls after her are all but lost to her as she sprints around the corner, nearly knocking into a chamber maid with an armful of linens. Her apology of _Forgive me, my Lady_ is lost too in the clack of Sansa's boots against the marble and the rain against the windows. Most of the servants within the kitchens stare wide eyed and aghast that their Lady be in the lowliest part of the house as Sansa storms through, her feet running towards the back door. She can not however take any notice of their exclamations but focuses on chasing after Jon. She must find him and convince him to refrain from this flighty exit from Gloucestershire. He must _stay_.

The rain is harsh against her skin as she rushes out into the dreary day; the drops from the sky falling onto her light ivory blouse and blowing her auburn curls around her face. She is soaking by the time her feet hit the wet grass but they keep carrying her over the small hills of the Starks land, acres and acres of hills and wood before her. But she can see him; the tweed of his jacket and the black of his hair thrown out against the backdrop of green and the moment her eyes spot him she calls out his name.

"Jon!" she screams to him, squinting and struggling through the rain. But she trudges on despite the fact he does not turn to her. Her call of _Jon_ is repeated over and over again until she is sure she is close enough for him to hear.

"Jon!" Sansa calls again, teeth chattering and body shaking with the rain.

"Go home Lady Sansa!" he turns to her, wet curls dripping into the eyes that are narrowed at her under the peak of his cap. There is nothing surrounding them but the trees and hills- the great Victorian house Sansa had ran from just a small grey blob in the distance behind her. Jon is the only thing she can see now, the only thing that's important. Had she always felt this way for him? This impatient sort of love that is bubbling up in her can't have been there before. Surely she hadn't always loved him as violently as she does now?

"Jon, you can not leave. You must stay" her voice is begging but she does not care. A Lady must always be gracious but promiscuous in the presence of men, but now she is laying her emotions bare and naked in front of Jon and she can not care. Courtesy is but abandoned in the face of love.

"Stay? What for? There's nothing in this god forsaken county for me" there has always been an anger in Jon that was always tangible. Sansa had always guessed it had came about when his mother had died of fever when he was only a baby. But now the fury that lies in his eyes is tenfold, and different somehow.

"But how can you leave? This is your home! It's where you belong!" Sansa fumes at him, her eyes holding his. He is a good head taller than her since he is a man and she is only a child but she feels that in that moment her anger at him could outrank him in any sense.

"Where do I belong? Huh? At the bottom with all the rest of my folk while you and your family swan around in fine clothes! I don't belong here, my Lady, people like me belong anywhere there's work. And there's no work here" Jon tells her while taking a step towards her. Sansa becomes suddenly fascinated by a trickling raindrop that is cascading down the curve of his pink mouth, and her own becomes dry.

"But Derbyshire? What would you do there? Stay here, my father will give you a position in the house" Sansa tries to persuade him but Jon just scoffs, squinting behind her head to the house that lies beyond the hills in the distance.

"As a footman? No thanks mi'lady I'll make my own way in life. I won't have the likes of you taking pity on me" he grumbles stubbornly, his eyes fixating back on Sansa's.

"The likes of me? How dare you! I thought we were friends, I thought I was allowed to take pity on your misfortunes" she scolds him bravely, squaring up on her toes.

"My misfortunes have been great indeed but I don't need pity for them! And we are not _friends_ , we never have been. You must be more naïve than I thought if you truly believed you or I could ever be close" his words are unnecessarily harsh and Sansa feels that they bite harsher than the rain pelts against her skin. Her back is to him in one swift movement, and just like a child she folds her arms across her chest. Some part of her is afraid to look behind her again and see that he has disappeared across the hills, but another part of her wishes he would just disappear and leave her to grieve his departure.

"Lady Sansa, I'm sorry. Turn around please" he tells her but she shakes her head, her jaw set stubbornly tight. Maybe she _had_ been naïve to believe she and Jon had any semblance of a friendship. All those days they spent chasing each other by the stream when they were young or climbing apple trees now seems like a vague and bitter memory thought by someone else and not by her own mind.  All those times she had to lie to her mother about why her dresses were so muddy or where she had been seem embarrassing and unnecessary now.

"How could you be so cruel?" Sansa tells him, turning around with eyes full of tears "why must everyone be this way? Thinking we can not be friends because of class?"

"Because it's the truth. I'm a miner and you're a Lady. Some day you'll marry a Lord and your children will inherit more money that I'll ever see. I'll always be at the bottom, and I'll just drag you down with me if I'm to stay anywhere near you"

"Don't say that" her voice is quiet and her hand shakes as it comes to rest on his rough cheek "you're worth more than any Lord I've ever met. You could never bring me down"

"That's a kind sentiment, my Lady. But it won't make me stay" he tells her, his fingers brushing against the hand that rests on his face. It's cold to the touch but Jon jolts as if he'd stuck his hand in flames.

"So this is goodbye then?" her voice is quivering and so is her whole body as if it's only becoming fully aware of the rain thrashing against it.

"Yes it's goodbye. You won't see me again" Jon tells her, his dark eyes peering down at her.

"No! No I won't stand for that Jon Snow!" her foot stamps in the wet grass, spraying the bottom of her skirts with thick mud but she does not seem to care. Not now anyway.

"Then what do you plan to do? Hold me here against my will?" he jokes, taking his hand from hers. Her hand falls from his face and hangs limply by her side.

"Lets run away together" she wildly proposes, much to the amusement of the young man before her. He smiles boyishly at her, his lips wide and his eye sparkling. She guesses it's the first genuine smile he's had on his face since his father died.

"And what would you do without all your finery?" his voice is full of amusement but to Sansa it's no joke. His eyes watch her from under the dark peak of his cap as she cautiously takes two steps closer to him; her nose now nearly touching his chest.

"I could love you. As I do now" all smiles he has held are banished from his face after she speaks and all Jon can do is stand there in the rain; unable to speak a word. She is beautiful where she stands, an image of heavenly beauty that has all but been constructed to torment him and constantly remind him of what he can never have. His salvation and his hell. Her words sink deep in his soul but his heart aches for what can never be. He shakes his head when he is finally able to move.

"It can not be, you and I would never work. This has to be goodbye, my Lady"

She's a child in everyone's eyes, not fully a woman until she's married but she feels like one when she takes his face in her hands and pulls him down. His words of protest before don't follow through to his actions, and his hands take her corseted waist and pull her to him. Her lips are on his before either of them have time to think but neither of them can come to regret it. The rain and the cold don't cross her mind when her lips are stuck to his in a way she thought not possible, and nothing else matters but Jon.

His skin is hot and his lips ignite a fire inside her that makes her blush to herself. It's utterly scandalous what they are doing; kissing in the fields like a pair of sinners but she does not wish to repent. The redness of her cheeks deepen when the warm tip of his tongue parts her light coloured lips and a feeling in her stomach makes her legs feel like jelly. She is aware of his body like never before; strong and solid pressed against her soft chest and her hands that rest on his face trail down and down until she comes to a smooth patch below his neck.

It's a kiss that has been consummated because of a deep buried desire she's held within herself, but it rings like a finality. Sansa pulls away from him then, the word goodbye balancing on the edge of her tongue but she swallows it back, pressing her forehead against his as she stretches on her toes.

"Write to me" she whispers through her swollen lips "write to me and when I'm old enough I'll run away with you Jon Snow. I promise you I will"

He is silent before her as she combs through her red hair with nimble fingers. The blue ribbon that had hung in a tidy bow at the back of her head is reefed loose now and as Sansa holds it between her fingers it blows in the wind. His hand is rough and warm in hers as she unfurls his fingers to place the ribbon in his palm.

"Keep it" she tells him; pressing their hands to the place his heart beats "you can give it back to me when we meet again"

She doesn't wait for him to say anything but she is gone like a ghost from his side; her skirts billowing about her as she runs like a flicker of a flame amongst the hills. Her kiss is a memory he'll carry forever, and the blue ribbon he tucks in his pocket is a symbol of her that he'll treasure forever. But they are just that, memories and trinkets that he will tuck away in the past and never resurrect. She is timeless and privileged and he is nothing more than a boy she will not remember when she is married.

He looks at her once more as she runs towards her house, and utters one last thing into the wind before he turns his back on her forever.

"Goodbye, my Lady"

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 


End file.
